The Myth of the Moirai

by Christine Adams Beckett

Revisionist historians have
nothing on this ninety-nine
million year-old insect, locked in
Burmese amber, whose

triangular head could
turn 180 degrees –
shattering our own ability
by a full right angle.

The great horned owl,
sagacious-eyed hunter,
evolved, can pivot its own
close to a full rotation:

looking back without
repent or regret,
forward with no expectation,
other than the next repast.

No Tolstoy parable could
illustrate the point better,
frozen in natural resin,
no underwriter, no physician.

Let the ink hold fast, for
all we have is now.